…give, and it will be given unto you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.

– Luke 6:38

Merry Christmas to all my readers! Since I can’t send a Christmas card to every last one of you, I offer this in its stead—an Original Sinners Christmas story. May your holiday season be filled to the brim with love, a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and poured into your lap, and may your blessings outnumber the snowflakes and the stars put together. And if your love and your blessings are lacking this year, be a blessing to someone else for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.

Four days before Christmas, Michael realized he had a very big problem—a problem he didn't know how to solve. He couldn't talk to Griffin about it. He already knew what Griffin would say—"It's fine, Mick. Don't stress." Well, that was easy for him to say. Michael stressed. He was born to stress. His middle name was Stress. He worried. He stressed. And he so he called the one person he knew would drop everything to help him.

"Nora?" he said as soon as she answered her phone. "I'm in trouble."

"Knocked up?" she asked. "I should have seen this coming. Do you need me to make the doctor's appointment?"

"Nora, I'm serious."

"What's going on, Snow Angel?"

"I'm meeting Griffin's entire family in two days."

"So? I met his dad. He's a bit gruff but really he’s a teddy bear underneath. Wears boat shoes unironically, but he's a good guy. What’s the problem?”

"Think about it. Think about me meeting them. With Griffin. Now do you see my problem?”

Nora paused before answering. "Okay, you might have a point."

"Can you help me?" Michael asked.

"This will call for drastic measures." Nora sounded wary.

"I'm willing to try almost anything," Michael said.

"I'll make a phone call and set it up. You do trust me, right?"

"Completely," he breathed, grateful to have her help.

"Just so you know," she said, "you're probably going to regret that."

At 3:38PM the next day, Michael regretted it.

"You said you trusted me." Nora stood by the mirror with her arms crossed. Another woman whose name he'd been too nervous to remember stood behind him.

"I did," Michael said. "But I change my answer."

"You don't have to do this," Nora said, smiling at the woman behind him. "But it'll do the trick. I promise."

Michael took a deep breath. This is for Griffin. This is for Griffin. This is for Griffin. The chant calmed his racing heart.

"What do you think?" the woman standing behind him asked. "Looks like thirteen inches to me now. Six inches?"

With three quick snips of the scissors, Charlie hacked his ponytail off. She handed eight inches of hair to Nora who took, eyed it, and stuffed it in a bag.

"You can give this to Griffin for Christmas," Nora said, sealing the bag. "This is eight inches of proof that you love him."

Michael sighed. He liked Griffin’s eight inches of proof better.

Charlie worked on his hair for almost an hour—snipping, trimming, combing, thinning, shaping, styling. By the time she was done he barely recognized himself in the mirror.

"Wow. Is that me?"

"That is you in five years," Nora said. "Longer hair on a guy either makes him look really young or like he's trying to look really young."

"I tried to tell that to King," Charlie said, grinning as she brushed the stray hairs off the back of Michael's neck. He felt naked. Gone was the long hair that had been his since age thirteen. Now he looked like one of those guys in magazine cologne ads—textured, fringy, whatever. It was short.

"Kingsley can pull off the longer hair in his forties," Nora said. "But just Kingsley. Nobody else."

"Wow," Michael said again, still adjusting to his haircut.

"It's good," Nora said as she passed money over to Charlie who raised her hands, refusing to take it. "You look amazing. Let's go take your head for a test drive."

"Test drive?"

Nora grabbed him by the hand and took him into the salon waiting room.

"Ladies," Nora said to the women in the waiting room. "I have a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill that I will give to the person who can correctly guess my nephew's age."

Michael paced their apartment as he waited for Griffin to return home from shopping. A wig wouldn't be so bad, would it? They made nice wigs these days, right? And his hair would grow back. And if Griffin hated the glasses, he could switch back to his contact lenses. The haircut and glasses thing was only to make him look a few years older so no one in Griffin's family would freak out that Griffin—who would turn thirty in two weeks—was dating a teenager. It was nothing permanent, nothing that couldn't be fixed. If Griffin hated it...

At the sound of keys rattling in the lock, Michael froze in the hallway. Nora had gone all out and had even helped him pick out some outfits that would make him look older. Michael wasn't sure how he felt about wearing "Hipster Chic" as Nora called it, but it definitely added to the illusion that he was some coffee-drinking, vinyl-record-collecting, twenty-two-year-old art student and not a recovering-Goth seventeen-year-old who still skateboarded in Central Park every chance he got.

He flattened his shirt over his stomach, checked the cuffs of his jeans fell properly over his purposefully scuffed boots, and straightened his nerd glasses. Griffin came through the door with two bags in each hand. Griffin still looked like Griffin, thank God. Same dark sexy male model hair, same dirty smile, same clothes that hid the same awesome muscular body that Michael loved sleeping against every night.

"Hey, can you help carry-" Griffin started to say something, but stopped when he saw Michael. All four bags hit the floor at once.

"Don't freak out," Michael said as Griffin stared at him. "I know I should have asked your permission before getting my hair cut but I was afraid you'd say no, and Nora says it's the best way to make me look older. And I don't want your family freaking out when I meet them so she did all this with my hair and the glasses and the clothes. Nora says I look twenty-two now so if your family dislikes me it'll be because we're 'godless sodomites' and not because I'm underage. But I think I look like James Franco in this shirt. Please say I don't. If I do I'm sorry-”

"You don't look like James Franco."

"Oh," Michael said, nodding. "That's good. How do I-”

Before Michael could say another word, Griffin's mouth was on his mouth, his hand on the back of Michael's neck, and he was being dragged, bodily, toward the bedroom.

Thirty minutes later, the hipster clothes and the black rectangle-frame glasses lay on the floor and the perfect haircut had gone from deliberately mussed to just-been-fucked mussed. Michael lay on his stomach on the bed, his arms and head hanging over the side. His back burned, his cock throbbed from the orgasm he'd just had, and he was fairly certain he wouldn't be walking anywhere for the next hour. In his peripheral vision, he saw Griffin, also naked, striding toward the bathroom.

Michael stretched a languid arm out toward the crumpled heap of his jeans. He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text message to Nora.

Good news. Griffin likes the haircut.

CHAPTER TWO

Introductions

The next day Michael helped Griffin load the presents into the Range Rover. Range Rover. He still couldn't believe Griffin had bought a new car just for the Christmas trip.

"What?" Griffin said. "You ever try to fit presents for fourteen people in the back of a Porsche?"

"I love you, Sir," Michael said. "But you are the living breathing definition of First World Problems."

"I can't believe you called me a hashtag."

"Are you going to punish me for it?" Michael asked, already eager for another round of Show-Michael-How-Much-Griffin-Loves-His-Hair-Cut-Using-A-Cock-And-Flogger. But Griffin was all business at the moment.

Michael laughed but it was a nervous, uncertain laugh. Griffin must have heard the note of nervousness in Michael's voice because he slammed the trunk of the Range Rover, took Michael by his coat lapels and pushed him back against the car.

"My family is really excited to meet you." Griffin kissed him once on the mouth, hard and deep.

"They are?" Michael nearly squeaked the question as Griffin pulled the collar of his coat down and nipped his neck.

"They are." Griffin pulled back and smiled at him. "It's time for you to meet the Fiskes. Excited?"

"Totally. Like I was excited to get my wisdom teeth out."

"My family is much easier on your gums than a tooth extraction. But I'm going to have to ask you to do something when you meet them, and you're not going to like it."

"What, Sir?"

Griffin sighed.

"You're gonna have to drop the 'Sir.' I don't want to play the 'Uncle Griffin, why does your boyfriend call you Sir?’ game with my niece. Or my cousins. Or my brothers. Or anybody really."

Griffin cupped the sides of Michael's neck. He had leather gloves on and the touch of the supple leather against his skin set him panting.

"Your master, you owner, your dominant, your lover, your 'Sir,' and anything else I want to be, whether you like it or not."

Griffin pressed his thumb into the hollow of Michael's throat.

"I like it," Michael said, breathless.

"Good," Griffin said. "Now getting in the car before I molest you in the Range Rover, and we're late for dinner."

"Yes, Sir," he said.

Griffin raised his eyebrow.

"Yes, Boyfriend."

Griffin nodded.

"Better. Now get in the car," Griffin ordered. "Time to make the Yuletide gay."

"Gay like merry?"

"Gay like I'm going to fuck your ass in a ski lodge."

"Sounds merry to me."

The drive from Griffin's upstate New York estate to his parents' Vermont country lodge took only a couple of hours and went by even faster as he and Griffin talked the entire way there. Griffin had a huge family—three brothers from his father's first marriage, their wives and/or kids, his mom, his dad, his cousins...by the time they pulled up in front of the lodge, Michael's brain had nearly burst with all the names and family gossip.

Griffin parked the car and hopped out. Michael lingered inside a moment longer. They'd spent Thanksgiving together at Michael's mom's house, which had initially terrified him. His older sister Erin adored Griffin and thought it insanely cool Michael had snagged a rich, gorgeous boyfriend. And his mom genuinely liked Griffin and certainly did her best to act like she was okay with their relationship. But after dinner, Griffin had naturally assumed he and Michael would be sleeping in the same bed. So things got a little awkward there when his mom had mentioned Michael sleeping on the couch so Griffin could have his room.

But Griffin had handled it.

"Come here, Beautiful," Griffin had said to Michael's mom. His mom blushed like she always did when Griffin play-flirted with her. Griffin crossed his arms, looked at her, and smiled. "Remember our little 'cool mom' talk? Mick and I are together. Having us sleep in separate rooms isn't going to change that. If you have religious objections to us sharing a room in your house, fine. We'll leave. But if you want us to stay, we stay together. Your decision."

They'd stayed together in his room at his mom's house...all night long.

Now it was Michael's turn to be the guest in Griffin's family's home. He hadn't met any of Griffin’s relatives. His brothers were all workaholics, apparently. As was his father. Griffin and his mother were close, but she'd been traveling the past two months. So not only was it Michael's first Christmas with Griffin, it was his first time meeting the entire Fiske family.

He glanced down at the green suede Clarks on his feet. Here it was, his first time meeting Griffin's parents, and he was dressed like James Franco.

"God help me," he prayed, and got out of the car.

Griffin handed Michael his duffel bag and laden with luggage and presents, they made their way carefully up the snowy drive to the front door of the house. Michael wondered if he stayed quiet and sort of stood behind Griffin, no one would notice him. Big family, lots of relatives and kids running around...maybe he could fly under the radar.

At the front door Griffin didn't knock. He threw the door open, stood in the foyer of the palatial ski lodge, and bellowed, "We're here!"

So much for flying under the radar.

Michael cringed as what seemed to be a thousand people poured out of rooms and down the hallway toward them. A beautiful woman with an impressive tan, especially for winter, and who didn't look much older than forty, came rushing forward.

Griffin barely had the chance to set everything down before she threw her arms around him.

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Michael stepped out from behind Griffin.

Griffin's mother's eyes widened momentarily at the sight of him. But before he could say anything, Michael had been engulfed in handshakes and hugs. Aidan, Griffin's oldest brother, slapped him on the back with a convivial, "Welcome to the family." A sister-in-law squealed and kissed him on the cheek. A cousin complimented his shoes. After fifteen minutes of it, Michael's face hurt from forcing himself to smile.

"That's it," Griffin said. "I'm taking Mick upstairs before one of you tries to steal him from me."

"I'll show you to your room," his mother said, a tight Martha Stewart-esque smile plastered on her face. Michael didn't like that smile. He'd seen his own mom forcing a smile enough times in his life to know a mask when he saw one.

"Our room," Griffin said and Michael cringed. One of Griffin's best qualities was his outspoken protectiveness of their relationship. It was, also, on rare occasion, one of his most annoying qualities. That and his recent weird obsession with Björk.

"Of course," his mother said. Michael followed Griffin and his mom up the stairs. Everywhere he looked he saw the signs of money. Stone hearth fireplaces in every room. Giant four-poster beds. Rough wood beams in the ceiling. Windows that looked out onto snow-covered hills. He felt like he'd stepped into a movie—a movie about really rich people.

She brought them to a door halfway down the hall and opened it. Griffin stepped past her and threw his bag on the bed.

"So what's the plan for this-" Griffin started to ask, but the sound of a slamming door cut off the rest of his words.

"Griffin Randolfe Fiske, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Griffin's mother pointed a finger at the center of Griffin's chest. Michael took a step back and glanced around, scanning for a safe escape route.

"Mom, relax-”

"Don't tell me to relax. How old is that boy?" She pointed her finger at Michael who decided to fuck the safe escape route. He would just jump from the window, break his ankle, and hide out in a hospital until New Year's.

"Mom, Mick's in college. Yorke. Double major. Full scholarship."

"College?" His mother repeated. "College? Don't pull that on me. I'm an ex-model. I was fourteen years old when I was on the cover of French Vogue the first time. I know when someone is trying to look older. That is a teenage boy if I ever saw one."

"I am in college," Michael said. "We're not lying."

"The teenager speaks," she said. "Freshman, I presume?"

Michael didn't want to answer, tried not to answer. But he had to answer.

"Yes," Michael confessed. "Sort of."

"Oh my God." She put her hand on her forehead.

"Mom, you're seriously overreacting." Griffin stepped between him and his mother. "Do I need to remind you how old you were when you married Dad? Do I need to remind you how big the age difference is between you and Dad?"

His mother waved her hand.

"No. No reminders necessary."

"Do Mick and I need to leave?" Griffin asked, his tone cold and serious. It was the voice he used when in hardcore Dominant mode. Usually Michael got turned on when Griffin went all tough and Dommy on him and/or others. Right now it made him want to hide from both Griffin and his mom.

"Mom. Enough. Mick is the most important person in my life. I love him. We're living together."

Just on the weekends, Michael wanted to add, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. He lived in his dorm the rest of the week. Griffin's mom probably didn't care about the logistics of their relationship.

"Do your parents know about this?" she asked Michael. "Do they know how old Griffin is? Are they okay with your relationship?"

"My mom likes Griffin," Michael said, embarrassed by how small and scared his voice sounded even to his own ears. "Griffin shoved my dad into a wall when he called me a fag. So you know, I don't think he likes either of us very much."

Her eyes widened and for a split second Michael thought he saw some sympathy flash across her face. He was probably imagining that.

She went silent and stared first at Griffin and then at Michael. Michael looked past her at a very interesting spot on the wall.

"Stay," she said. "Both of you. Dinner's in an hour. And please keep it down. There are children in the house. Children other than Michael, of course."

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the bedroom.

"Well," Griffin said. "That could have gone better.”

CHAPTER THREE

Wanted

"I'm sorry," Michael said. "Seriously. I can totally go. You stay and have Christmas with your family and I'll-"

Michael jumped as Griffin reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He winced as Griffin's fingers dug into his skin. Pain radiated through his body.

"Better?" Griffin asked. Michael closed his eyes and breathed the pain in. His heart rate slowed as Griffin increased the pressure on his neck.

"Good. Now listen to me," Griffin said. "You and I are a set. Where I go, you go. Where I sleep, you sleep. Where I stay, you stay. If we leave, we leave together. If we stay, we stay together. I know my mom. She has a flash paper temper. Quick burst of light. Everyone jumps. Over in a split-second."

"She seemed pretty mad-"

"I know," Griffin said. "But she'll get over it. Understand?"

"Yeah," Michael said.

"You don't sound convinced."

Michael heard amusement in Griffin's voice.

"I don't want to stay somewhere I'm not, you know, wanted."

Griffin moved closer and tilted Michael's face up. He opened his eyes to see Griffin staring down at him.

"Wherever I am, you are wanted."

Griffin kissed him hard and deep. It took a minute before Michael could enjoy the kiss and return it. Luckily Griffin was a patient sort and by now knew how to deal with Michael's stress. Patience. Talking. No pressure kissing.

"Dinner's in an hour. Plenty of time."

"For what?" Michael asked.

Griffin pulled back and gave him a little smile. He held up a finger indicating Michael was to wait in submissive silence.

He locked the door to the bedroom and shut the curtains. The snow-capped mountains disappeared behind heavy red velvet.

Griffin stood behind Michael and brought his hands around his chest. He opened the top three buttons and pulled the shirt down enough to bare Michael's shoulders. Griffin dusted Michael's neck and shoulders with soft sensual kisses that left him panting.

"My mom has a point, you know," Griffin said as he finished unbuttoning Michael's shirt. "We really should be quiet."

Griffin reached into their suitcase and pulled out Michael's black leather collar. He brushed Michael's hair off his shoulders and buckled the collar around his neck. Once in the collar, Michael relaxed. The collar comforted him in ways he couldn't really explain and would never try to. Why did wearing a symbol of sexual slavery make him feel so free? He’d asked Nora who said such things were "divine mysteries" like Holy Communion, the Virgin Birth, and how Christopher Plummer stays so sexy even in his eighties. Best to accept them, enjoy them, and not question them.

Shirtless and shivering, Michael stood waiting while Griffin built up the fire in the fireplace. For the first time since arriving, Michael felt comfortable enough to really take in his surroundings. Dark hardwood floors covered in plush rugs, huge stone fireplaces, ruggedly beautiful walls...and Griffin's parents owned this place—one of five houses they owned. Crazy.

Griffin turned off the lights so that only the fireplace illuminated the room. He dug through the suitcase and pulled out Michael's favorites—the spreader bar, the leather cuffs, the flogger with the seven sharp tails that left him covered in bright red welts...

"Good thing I packed this," Griffin said, pulling a tie out of the suitcase. "Should make a decent gag."

Michael bit down on the silk tie as it slipped into his mouth. Griffin tied it tight at the base of his neck.

"Drop it if you need to stop," Griffin said, taking off his Blancpain 1735 watch and placing it in Michael's hand. Now gagged, Michael wouldn't be able to utter his safe word if he needed to. However, he doubted that no matter how much pain he felt, he'd be able to let himself drop Griffin's eight-hundred-thousand dollar watch on the ground.

Quickly Griffin strapped the leather cuffs on Michael's wrists and locked them over the top bar of the bedpost. A surge of adrenaline shot through Michael as Griffin stripped him naked. His heart raced, his blood surged, and his body tensed in erotic apprehension of the coming beating.

As usual, before Griffin let the first blow fall, he stood close to Michael and ran his hands over Michael's naked back. The buttons on Griffin’s shirt nipped Michael’s back.

"I'm in love with you," Griffin said, his fingertips gently scoring Michael's skin. "You belong to me and you always will. Your body is mine, your pain is mine, your pleasure is mine. No one touches you without my permission. No one hurts you unless I allow it. Nod if you understand.”

Michael nodded.

“Good boy.”

The first blow landed flat in the center of Michael's back. He flinched and shivered but made no sound. At the second blow Michael whimpered in the back of his throat. The pain spiked through his skin and into his lungs. After that came a series of short sharp strikes that left Michael moaning behind the gag. The beating went on for ten minutes at least.

Griffin dropped the flogger at Michael's feet and pressed his chest into Michael's burning back.

"Did you enjoy that?" Griffin asked as he ran his hand over Michael's furious erection.

Still gagged, Michael couldn't answer. He didn't need to. His body and the fluid trickling from the tip of his penis answered for him. Griffin caught the wetness on his fingers and rubbed it into the head.

"I'll take that as a yes," Griffin said, cupping Michael's testicles with his other hand. As Griffin stroked and fondled him, Michael groaned softly against the gag.

"Shh..." Griffin whispered in Michael's ear. "There are children in the house."

Despite his extreme arousal, Michael still laughed. Griffin reached behind his head and untied the gag. He took the watch from Michael's hand and unbound him from the bedpost.

"Knees," Griffin ordered and Michael dropped to the ground. "Take it all. Every inch."

Michael relaxed his throat to take all of Griffin's cock inside him. Griffin cupped the back of Michael's head to steady him as he slowly fucked Michael's mouth. After just a minute or two, Griffin pulled out and brought Michael back to his feet.

"I need to be in you," Griffin said in a hoarse, hungry tone as he pushed Michael back against the bedpost.

"Yes, Sir," Michael said, more than willing. "I always want you inside me," Michael said as Griffin brought his mouth down on Michael's.

The kiss sent shock waves of desire searing through Michael's body. Tonight he needed Griffin as much as Griffin needed him.

"Bed," Griffin ordered. "Now."

Michael lay in the center of the bed. Griffin grasped his ankle and buckled cuffs around both ankles.

"Stomach," Griffin said and Michael obediently rolled facedown onto the luxurious covers. Michael turned his head to the side and watched a still fully dressed Griffin pull the tube of lube from their suitcase. He'd told Griffin once how much it turned him on being completely naked while Griffin still wore clothes. It made him feel even more like Griffin’s slave, his property. Since that conversation, Griffin would keep his clothes on during sex once a weekend. Michael loved Griffin's naked body, loved feeling Griffin's tall muscular form pressed into him while they talked in bed or kissed or slept. But during sex, nothing turned him on more than feeling like a body to be used solely for Griffin’s pleasure.

Griffin crawled onto the bed and hooked Michael's ankles to each end of a two-foot spreader bar. Then with gentle fingers he prepped Michael with the lube. Michael loved this part, the passivity of it. Again and again Griffin pushed inside Michael, opening him slowly, massaging him. Quietly Michael groaned as Griffin found that tight knot of tissue inside him, his g-spot, and pushed into it.

Michael breathed deeply as Griffin ran his hands up and down Michael's burning back and over his arms and shoulders. Michael relished the touch of Griffin's hands on his body, so gentle and possessive.

"Okay?" Griffin asked, kissing Michael behind the ear.

"Very okay, Sir."

Griffin slid his hands down Michael's arms, captured his wrists, and pushed them hard into the mattress next to Michael's head. Carefully Griffin thrust long and slow in and out of Michael.

Michael kept breathing and tried to think about anything but Griffin on top of him and inside him. Early on Griffin had established the rule—Griffin comes first. Literally. Unless Griffin gave Michael explicit permission, Griffin always came first while Michael had to control himself and come only when allowed. Michael loved the rule, loved how it made him feel even more like a sexual possession. During the week when apart, Michael had to text Griffin and receive permission before he could even masturbate.

"Inside me, please." Michael loved it when Griffin came inside him. When Griffin came, he came hard, and sometimes Michael could actually feel Griffin's semen pouring into him.

Griffin gripped the back of Michael's neck and the leather of the collar bit into his skin. With a few more pumps of his hips, Griffin pushed deep and came with a ragged grunt. It took everything Michael had to hold back and not come at the same time. His hips felt heavy and tight. He rested on the edge of orgasm and nearly anything would send him over.

"Beg," Griffin said, pulling slowly out of Michael.

"Please, Sir," Michael began and he didn't have to fake the need in his voice. "Please..."

Griffin unlashed Michael's ankles from the spreader bar, flipped him onto his back, and dragged him to the edge of the bed. Griffin poured lube into both hands. Standing on the floor, Griffin pushed Michael's legs to his chest and entered him again with his fingers. As Griffin's hand pushed into Michael, his free hand wrapped around Michael and stroked.

"God, you're so beautiful, Mick," Griffin said as Michael's back arched. Michael wanted to say something, wanted to tell Griffin how much he loved him, how much he loved belonging to him, how it was Griffin, not him, who was the beautiful one, but the pleasure overpowered him and stole his already limited powers of speech.

"Please," was all Michael could utter.

"Come," Griffin ordered, and Michael gasped and released into Griffin's wet hand. Griffin pushed into him with short shallow thrusts of his fingers while Michael orgasmed.

Slowly Michael caught his breath as Griffin crawled over him and looked down.

"You're wet," Griffin teased as he dipped his head and kissed Michael.

"I know," Michael admitted. "I feel like I just took a bath in lube and cum."

"You did. Now go hop in the shower. It'll be dinner soon."

"Can't I hide out in here? And never ever face any of your family again?"

Too well-trained to argue, Michael got into the shower. Luckily their bedroom had it's own small bathroom so he wouldn't have to go into the hallway looking like he'd just gotten his brains fucked out. He showered, dressed, and combed his fingers through his hair until it looked purposefully messy as opposed to accidentally messy.

He emerged ten minutes later from the bathroom. He found Griffin standing by the fireplace.

"I'm ready. I still don't want to go," Michael said.

"I understand. We're still going. Number one, because you need to eat. Number two, because Mom will get over herself and tell you she's sorry any minute now. And number three, I'm fucking starving. My cock needs to keep its strength up."

Griffin grabbed Michael by the back of the neck and hauled him to the door.

"Scared?" Griffin asked.

"Terrified."

"You'll be fine. And if not, then we can hide out all week in bed."

"I can live with that."

In the hallway, two tiny identical girls in matching Christmas dresses rushed them with cries of "Uncle Griffin, Uncle Griffin!”

Griffin let go of Michael's hand and swooped both girls up into his arms.

"Piper? Skylar? What are you two doing?" Griffin asked, kissing them both on their cheeks.

"Racing. I won," one of the girls said.

"Did not," the other protested.

"I think I won," Griffin said.

At once the girls seemed to notice Michael. They stared at him with wide blue eyes.

"Who are you?" one of the girls asked.

"I'm Michael. What's your name?"

"Skylar. This is Piper." She put her finger in her twin sister's ear.

"Hi, Piper."

"You're a boy," Skylar said to Michael.

"Yes, he's a boy, Piper," Griffin said, clearly trying not to smile.

"And you're a boy," the little girl said to Griffin.

"I am," Griffin said. "This is Michael. He's my boyfriend."

Both girls seemed to mull this over.

"He's pretty," Skylar said to Griffin.

"Tell me about it," Griffin said.

At the bottom of the stairs, a pretty red-headed woman took the girls from Griffin’s arms.

They entered the dining room and found it packed with at least two dozen people.

"Griffin?" came a sturdy male voice from behind them.

"Hey Dad," Griffin said, turning around and hugging a grey-haired and handsome man who appeared to be in his sixties. "This is Michael."

Michael offered a tentative, "Hello, Sir."

Griffin's father looked Michael up and down, raised his eyebrow, and joined Griffin's mother at the table.

"That went about as expected," Griffin whispered as they took their seats.

"I don't want your parents to hate me."

"They don't hate you," Griffin whispered back. "Just give them a minute to warm up to you. Oh, Mom does everything Dad tells her to. So if you can get my dad on your side, you're golden."

"Any tips?"

"Nope."

A feast of epic proportions swirled around them. Nervousness robbed Michael of his appetite, so he only picked at his food. Griffin, seemingly impervious to the curious and somewhat disapproving stares of family members, carried on gamely talking to cousins, half-siblings, aunts and uncles.

"So Michael, how did you meet our Griffin?" came a question in the midst of a lull in the conversation. The entire table fell silent.

Michael froze. The question had come from Mr. Fiske, the family patriarch.

Griffin reached under the table and squeezed Michael's knee in reassurance.

"Um," Michael began and took a deep breath. The entire Fiske family, which Michael knew probably was worth over a billion dollars collectively, now stared at him. "A friend introduced us."

"A friend?" Mr. Fiske said evenly. "Who?"

Michael coughed. "Nora Sutherlin."

"The Nora Sutherlin? That crazy sex writer Griffin's friends with?" That came from the cool sister-in-law, Lily.

Michael nodded. "Yeah. We go to the same church."

"Church?" repeated Griffin's father skeptically.

"Nora and Michael are both Catholic," Griffin said, his eyes alight with amusement.

"Yeah, we're Catholics," Michael said, swallowing hard. He looked up and saw every set of eyes in the entire family still on him. "Really bad Catholics."

The silence lasted one more second before Griffin's father's face cracked open into a smile. And the smile became laughter, and the laughter rippled through the entire room.

“Hope you have an open-minded priest,” Lily said, still laughing.

“Very,” Griffin said. “He’s banging Nora.”

Michael turned to Griffin with wide, shocked eyes. But Lily only laughed. So this is how Nora got away with murder. She told everyone the truth, but the truth was so wild no one believed it. Griffin winked and kissed him on the mouth in front of everyone. Conversation started up again and suddenly Michael's appetite returned.

After dinner they lingered in the high-ceilinged living room talking to the younger relatives by the tallest Christmas tree Michael had ever seen in a private home. Michael did feel a little weird that Griffin had a niece his age. In another time and place, being forced to carry on a conversation with a girl like Griffin's rich gorgeous private school niece would have put Michael into a coma of fear. But now, Michael was an object of mysterious fascination. That he didn't have a penny to his name meant nothing to Avery. She wanted to know everything—what Nora Sutherlin was like, what being Griffin's boyfriend was like, what college at Yorke was like...Then she starting poking him on Facebook and Michael decided it was probably time for him to go to bed.

Griffin stayed downstairs with his family, which was fine with Michael.

It had taken them both a few months to get used to each other's opposite ways of dealing with the world. Griffin, the born extrovert, loved being surrounded by people whereas Michael was at his happiest when alone or hanging out with just him and Griffin. But once they talked it out, Michael learned to check his jealousy at the door when Griffin felt like hanging out with other people, and Griffin made sure to give him plenty of alone time to recharge.

Michael sat in the armchair by the window with a sketchpad and worked on a drawing. He sketched for hours until finally his hand tired and he closed his book. Outside the bedroom a new snow started to fall. He watched the flakes dance past the window and let himself be hypnotized by the beauty of the snow and the moonlight and his breath fogging the glass. At this time last year, he was a senior in high school with no close friends, no boyfriend or girlfriend, no big family parties to go to, and no one to buy gifts for. Just him and his mom and his sister Erin hanging out in the living room and praying Dad wouldn't show up and ruin their quiet Christmas. And now, only one year later, he had Griffin, friends at Yorke, a better relationship with his mom, and more love and happiness than he ever dreamed would be his. He counted his blessings along with the snowflakes until he fell asleep in the chair. He only half-awoke when Griffin half-dragged, half-carried him in bed, pulled off his clothes, and wrapped his arm around him, holding him close.

A few hours later Michael woke up in the middle of the night and carefully slid out from under Griffin's arm. He dressed in the dark, pulling on his jeans and shirt. By the light of the dying fireplace, Michael dug silently through his duffel bag and pulled out a tube wrapped in silver paper. Quietly so as not to awake Griffin, Michael slipped into the hallway and padded on bare feet down to the living room. Thankfully he found the room empty. All the Fiskes had gone to bed. Michael sat the tube under the lit Christmas tree. He paused a moment and looked at it. He expected the Christmas tree of millionaires to be covered in diamonds and pearls. Instead popcorn on thread ringed the tree and half the ornaments looked like schoolroom projects.

Michael touched a little thread snowflake that had yellowed with age.

"Griffin made that," came a voice from behind him. Michael spun around and saw Griffin's gorgeous mother coming into the room. "I think he was about eight."

"He did a good job," Michael said.

"He was in school. Public school when he made it. That was my big bright idea to send Griffin to public school, you know. I thought growing up the son of a multi-millionaire would make him vain and shallow. I'd seen money ruin so many of my friends growing up. I thought I was being the smart mom sending him off to school with kids on welfare. What an idiot was I," she said, sighing.

Michael shifted uncomfortably. "Why?" he asked, although he wasn't sure he wanted the answer. He was a public school nobody himself.

"I was one of those dumb rich kids who idolized the poor. The noble working class so superior to those of us born with silver spoons in our mouths. Griffin was the richest kid in that school. A god. No matter how much he screwed up, got wasted, got high… He could do no wrong. Even the teachers let him get away with murder. Didn’t want to piss of Griffin’s very important father."

Now Michael understood.

"Griffin doesn't blame you for his problem. Or his dad. He doesn't blame anybody but himself, Mrs. Fiske."

Alexis smiled. "I think I know why." She pointed at a crayon drawing of a snowman laminated and hanging by a string through his hat. "Griffin did that one too. I think in kindergarten. So many little ones in the family, we're running out of tree. But I can't throw any of my baby's stuff away."

"My mom keeps all my old stuff too."

"You and your mom get along well?"

"Yeah. Much better now, thanks to Griffin. He and Mom are kind of tight. It's pretty funny."

"She really likes my Griffin?"

"Who doesn't like Griffin?" Michael asked. She laughed.

"His mother didn't like him very much a few years ago. His mother was living a nightmare with a son who constantly promised to stop taking drugs and who broke that promise a few hundred times."

If a heart could wince in pain Michael's heart winced at the mention of Griffin on drugs. They didn't talk about Griffin's past addiction struggles only because Griffin wanted to stay focused on the present and not the past. But every now and then Griffin would let something slip, a story, a confession, that time he missed his favorite aunt's funeral because he'd gotten too messed-up the night before to go.

"He's clean now, I promise."

"I never get tired of hearing that. Can I tell you a story? Just a quick one."

"Tell me anything you want, Mrs...I mean, Alexis."

"Like I said earlier, I was fourteen years old when I was on the cover of French Vogue. I lost my virginity to the photographer. Don't tell that to my son. He thinks I'm a virgin."

Michael laughed. "No. I won't say anything."

"I'm only telling you for this reason. That photographer used me up and spit me out. And the next week he was sleeping with a new girl. I realized then that people in that business were cold and cruel and I had to be tough if I didn't want them to destroy me. I grew up very fast in the modeling business. By the time I met Griffin's father when I was nineteen years old, I felt ninety. I think the big attraction to me in the beginning was that John could get me out of the business."

"I don't blame you. That sounds really hard."

"I worked from age thirteen to nineteen. Getting married and having a baby was a vacation compared to what I'd been doing for the previous years. How crazy is that? It's crazy. You can say it's crazy."

"That's seriously crazy."

"I just..." Alexis held up her hand. "I hate the thought of anyone losing their childhood too soon. My son is a recovering drug addict and he'll be thirty in two weeks. And your life is only starting now. Freshman in college? Michael, you're a baby. You're just a baby. And you should be enjoying your youth. It's gone all too soon."

Michael took a breath. He let her words sink in. In the old days, before Nora, Michael would have nodded and walked away. Not anymore. He'd spent the entire summer with a woman congenitally incapable of shutting up and walking away. He'd learned a few tricks from her. So instead of shutting up and walking away, he turned up his shirt cuffs.

"Michael?"

"Here," he said. "Feel."

He held out his arms, palms up, and thrust his wrists forward.

"Lovely tattoos," she said. "Angel wings?"

"Yes. Touch them. I know that sound weird, but trust me."

She placed her fingertips on the wings. Her eyes widened in surprise.

"What is-"

"Scars," Michael said. "From when I slit my wrists at age fourteen. I almost died. My priest saved my life."

"Scars..." She took Michael's hands in hers. "Why?"

Michael shrugged. "My father hated me. Hates me. He wanted a son like him, and he got me instead. Until yesterday afternoon I had hair down to my shoulders. Dad liked to call me 'Princess' or his 'other daughter.'"

"Why did you cut all your hair off?"

"To look older so no one would give Griffin a hard time about dating me."

"You'll have to forgive me. I'm too well-trained. I was thirteen made up to look like I was twenty-five. I know the tricks. You fooled everyone else, though. My husband thinks you're twenty-one, twenty-two."

He pulled his arms back and buttoned his cuffs again. "I think it's really nice of you that you're worried about me giving up my youth or innocence or whatever for Griffin. But I almost died at fourteen, I lost my virginity—not to Griffin—when I was fifteen. And a few months ago, me and Griff kicked my father out of my life forever. I don't have any innocence left to lose. And I know I'm young, and I know Griffin's almost thirty, but I also know he's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I know we're good together. He gives me everything I need and more. And I love him so much it's crazy. The good kind of crazy."

Alexis nodded and for once gave him a broad, open, and genuine smile. Michael could see the cover girl she once was standing right in front of him.

"He's never brought anyone home for Christmas before you. And I'm very glad he has someone who loves him."

She patted him on the cheek, a motherly sort of touch. Then she held out her hand.

"Handshake?" Michael asked, taking her hand.

"It's from my husband. We've known for years that Griffin was...well, that women weren't his only interest. It's taking my husband a little time to get used to the idea. He said he was sorry he didn't shake your hand at dinner."

"Tell him thanks. And I'm still getting used to me and Griffin being together too."

“My husband’s company was one of the first to give benefits to same-sex partners. That was his doing. It's just...when it's your own son...”

"It's okay. He was nicer to me than my own father."

"That shouldn't have happened to you. As much misery as Griffin gave my husband and me, we never once hit him. Although it did occur to me a time or two," she said, smiling as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

"He can be a little infuriating. Especially when he's listening to Björk in the shower and singing along with it. He doesn’t actually know Icelandic, does he?"

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. Anyway, I'm sorry he didn't tell you I was younger than him. Like I said, I wasn't some kind of innocent teenage virgin when we met."

"I don't doubt that. Any friend of Nora Sutherlin's..."

Michael laughed. "Seriously. But I should get back to bed before he wonders where I went. Just playing Santa."

"What is it?" Alexis asked, pointing at the tube Michael put under the tree.

"Present for Griffin," Michael said. "Want to see?"

"I don't know," she said warily. "Do I?"

Michael grinned as he reached under the tree. He opened the top of the wrapping paper at the end of the tube and popped out the cap. Carefully he pulled out a rolled piece of paper.

Michael rolled up the sketch again and gently pushed it back into the tube. He taped up the end and put it back under the tree.

"Goodnight, Alexis," Michael said. "See you tomorrow morning."

"Goodnight, Michael. Thank you. Oh, and Merry Christmas."

Michael smiled at her and for the first time since coming to this house he felt the Christmas spirit.

"Merry Christmas."

CHAPTER FIVE

Merry Christmas

Michael fled up the steps and slipped back into their room. He undressed quickly and slid under the covers. Griffin stirred and pulled him close.

"Where did you disappear to?" Griffin asked in a sleepy voice.

"Santa made me blow him before he'd give up the presents. He's too old. Took him forever to come."

"Well, as long as you got the presents," Griffin said, nuzzling into Michael's neck.

"Actually I was talking to your mom. She's cool."

"She can be," Griffin agreed. "And still gorgeous, especially for her age."

"I know. Your mom's a babe."

"Is that what this is for?" Griffin asked, as he ran his hand over Michael's erection.

"Your mom's cute, but that's for you. Sorry. I know you want to sleep."

"I'm over sleep."

"Should I get my collar?" Michael asked, his heart starting to race.

"Don't you dare leave this bed."

"Yes, Sir."

"Lay flat on your back. Time to get one of your presents."

"Awesome."

Michael did as Griffin instructed and rolled onto his back. Griffin got out of bed long enough to pull something out of his suitcase. He returned to bed with it.

"What is that, Sir?"

"Misery stick." Griffin smiled wickedly at him, and Michael's blood raced in anticipation. "Looks innocent enough, right? Just a long thin metal rod and a heavy ball on the end. But if you do this..." Griffin pulled back the tip of the stick and let it hit Michael's upper thigh. First Michael felt pain, the usual sort of impact "ouch." But then the pain increased, deepened, and radiated through his thigh down to the bone.

"Jesus." Michael panted.

"They don't call it a Misery Stick for nothing. Want more?"

"Oh, God yes."

Griffin flicked him with the tip again. Michael winced and gasped again. Griffin moved down his thigh with the stick, leaving red marks the size of quarters. The pain rang like a bell resonating through his entire body. Flogging hurt and caning was excruciating, but Michael experienced a new pain from the Misery Stick. He held onto the headboard as his lower body writhed from the agony. With each strike of the stick, he grew harder and harder.

"Griffin..." he gasped. "I'm-"

"I know. Hold it off. No coming until I say so."

Michael nodded, too aroused and in pain to speak anymore. It had come as a shock to Griffin when he discovered Michael could orgasm from pain alone. Griffin usually shied away from hurting Michael to that extent. It was a Merry Christmas, after all.

Once Griffin had left twenty welts on Michael's left thigh, he turned to the right.

"Count with me," Griffin said. "At ten you can come. One."

"One." Michael forced the word out through gritted teeth.

Griffin flicked him at the soft spot above his knee.

"Two," Michael said as Griffin hit him once inch higher. His cock felt like it would explode if he didn't get to come soon.

"Three." The pressure built up in his hips.

"Four." His head spun from need.

Michael barely registered hits five through nine. He was lost in the pain, utterly adrift. He wasn't in the bed anymore. He wasn't in the bedroom. He wasn't in the house. He was in pain. Pain was where he lived now.

"Ten," Griffin whispered. The stick hit Michael on his inner thigh near his hipbone. Michael rolled onto his side from the sheer agony of it. Griffin wrapped his hand around Michael's penis and stroked once. Michael came with a shuddering rush, burying his face into the pillow to silence his cry. The spasms ripped through his back, and Michael's entire body seized up in one of the strongest orgasms he'd ever had.

Slowly he emerged from the haze of orgasm. Griffin rubbed his back with long gentle strokes.

"You enjoy that?" Griffin whispered.

"I..." Michael said. "That's all I've got."

"Good enough. Now lay there. Relax. My turn."

Griffin kissed him on the mouth, slowly, sensuously before working his way down Michael's trembling body.

Griffin slipped a hand between Michael's legs and pushed the tip of his finger into him. Once more Griffin found Michael's g-spot and slowly kneaded it.

"I need you," Griffin said.

"Fuck me," Michael said as he felt Griffin's brutally hard cock pressing into his stomach. "Please."

Griffin grabbed the lube off the side table and poured it onto his fingertips. Quickly, roughly, and with almost shaking hands Griffin prepped Michael.

Slowly Griffin pushed inside Michael. Griffin rarely fucked him more than once a day. He didn't want a repeat of the night he'd gotten too rough with him and caused some bleeding. But Michael was spent from his own orgasm, limp as a rag, and his body was open and relaxed.

"Pain?" Griffin asked.

"None," Michael promised. "Feels amazing."

Griffin began thrusting into Michael—long, hard thrusts. The bed groaned underneath them and Michael wondered if the entire house could hear them right now. At that moment he couldn't begin to care.

Michael tilted his hips to take Griffin in deeper. He wrapped his legs around Griffin's upper back. Reaching back, he grasped the headboard again to steady himself.

The friction between their stomachs quickly brought Michael back to the precipice. He breathed through his nose trying to calm himself. But Griffin cradled Michael's head to his chest as his other arm supported Michael's back. Griffin thrust one last time and came inside Michael with a ragged cry and a rush of warm fluid.

Griffin pulled out and took Michael into his warm mouth, stroking him with his tongue. Michael secretly believed that even if he let every human being on the face of the planet give him a blowjob, nobody would do it quite as well as Griffin.

Michael groaned as Griffin massaged him from base to tip with his lips and then back down. He took Michael in deep and sucked hard before dropping gentle kisses right on the tip.

"Sir, I'm-"

"Come," Griffin ordered. Michael let go and came again in Griffin’s mouth. He shivered from the orgasm, a gentler one this time, but no less enjoyable.

Griffin rolled onto his back. Although it took every ounce of energy he had left, Michael crawled over to Griffin and stretched out across his broad chest. Idly he traced the lines of Griffin’s bicep tattoos with his fingertips.